


Forever You'll Be There by my Side

by LadyLondonderry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Kinda, M/M, Magic, Magic-Users, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-23 20:00:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10726185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLondonderry/pseuds/LadyLondonderry
Summary: If asked, Harry would say that he doesn't live alone; he lives with his lovely and intelligent cat Starberry. He lives on a street full of witches and wizards that he sees briefly before they apparate off their front steps, and his sister floos by unannounced quite often. If asked, Harry would say he lives a rather content life.If asked, Harry wouldnotsay being practically run over by his new neighbour the first time they meet is a positive thing. He may even say that he wishes that new neighbour would stop following him around and let him do his produce shopping in peace.





	Forever You'll Be There by my Side

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written as part of an ongoing challenge. We each select random numbers and are given a specific emotion from the book 1000 Feelings For Which There Are No Names. To read the other fics written in this challenge, [click here](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/ShortFic_Challenge_For_Which_There_Is_No_Name/works), or you can find the masterpost on tumblr [here](http://lululawrence.tumblr.com/post/159679804243/1000-feelings-for-which-there-are-no-names-prompt).

There are two things Harry Styles loved more than anything else in the world: reusable cloth grocery bags and fresh produce.

(This is not actually an accurate list, but sometimes Harry gets passionate about things).

Today is the day someone will ruin both of them.

—

It’s eleven in the morning and Harry is walking home from the farmer’s market with a reusable cloth grocery bag on each arm, filled with fresh fruits and vegetables to get him through the week. He’s considering making fruit salad when he gets home; he can send a container home with Gemma when she visits. She loves his fruit salad.

The sun is beating down on his shoulders, and he can feel his ears warming as he walks out from under the shade of the taller buildings and turns to go down his own street. It’s days like today that make him want to break out the old sprinkler and lay in the grass below it and get watered with the plants.

He’s only a few houses down from his own when it happens. _”It” _in this case is a figure appearing directly in front of him and then stumbling _straight_ into him, giving Harry a flash of startled blue eyes before they both go down, tumbling one over the other with fruits and vegetables tumbling every which way all over the pavement.__

__Harry lets out a curse as his back hits the kerb, and narrowly avoids knocking his head against the pavement, saved only by a collection of oranges that seem to have tumbled out at exactly the right angle._ _

__The other person has managed to avoid the ground altogether, landing instead directly on Harry’s chest. Unfortunately for Harry, that person is scrambling up, and doing so by putting both of his hands against Harry’s chest for leverage._ _

__“Sorry about that, really - I thought this was a quiet street, thought to meself, _Tommo, you don’t have to worry too much about apparating into the right spot. Nothing but wizards here to see you_ , but of course I didn’t think to try for some place where I knew people wouldn’t be, like a lawn or summat. Or my own house. Should probably just go for a doorstep next time, yeah.”_ _

__“Please,” Harry groans out. “Get off of me.”_ _

__Having this person - Tommo - on top of him is oddly reminiscent of when Starberry takes a nap on his chest, right down to her little kitty claws digging into him. This guy has some sharp nails._ _

__“Right, sorry, of course! Terribly rude of me.” And then the stranger is pushing off and standing up, leaving Harry to sit up and peel some mushed strawberries from under one arm._ _

__The stranger is babbling more apologies now, but Harry is looking around at the poor state of his produce - scattered strawberries and blueberries, squashed oranges, bananas beyond repair, and all manner of green things in the gutter._ _

__Then he spots his _bags_ \- one of them has a partially detached strap, that can be sewn, but the other has a tear straight through the middle! There’s only so much that can be done for a disaster like that, and Harry’s sewing skills are subpar to be perfectly honest._ _

__He only just tunes into what the stranger is saying when he spies the man pulling a wand from his pocket._ _

__“Sorry, sorry. Fixed in a jiffy. All my fault!” and then a few muttered spells followed by the fruit and veg rolling back towards the bags._ _

__Harry’s face is set as neutrally as possible as he watches the bags magically repair themselves. It’s clear that this wizard isn’t that skilled at household spells, as the stitches that appear in the bags where they’ve come apart are sloppy and large, like a primary school student who’s only just learned to thread a needle._ _

__“Not exactly my forte, but it could be worse! I’m afraid I can’t do much for the fruit though…”_ _

__“You’ve done enough,” Harry growls. He rises to his feet, ignoring the aches and scratches for the moment, and leans down to grab his bags. He’s just going to need to go back to the farmer’s market this afternoon. Thankfully, they don’t close down until four thirty on Saturdays._ _

__Harry stalks away from the guy - which, okay, probably rude - and becomes aware a moment later that _the guy is following him_._ _

__“Hey! I’m really- I said I was sorry! Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I? Did you leave your wand at home? I can help with those scapes, I’m good at scrapes! You’ve got a nasty one on your arm there, I can see it!”_ _

__Harry turns up his front walk, praying the stranger doesn’t follow him. “I don’t need help,” he calls behind him, before pushing open the door (wizards don’t tend to use locks much, they’re a bit old fashioned)._ _

__He lets the door slam closed behind him and immediately drops the bags, letting them thud on the entryway carpet. The fruit can’t possibly get _more_ bruised at this point._ _

__The _thud thud thud_ coming down the stairs signals him that Starberry has heard his entry, and a moment later he sees her - white fluffy coat and brown face and paws - appear at the top of the balcony._ _

__“Don’t look at me like that,” he tells her._ _

__She sniffs the air._ _

__“He’s the one who ran into me!” Harry protests._ _

__She stares at him. She doesn’t blink._ _

__“Well he’s probably a serial apparator, and I’ll never see him again anyway,” Harry huffs. Starberry stands up again and then continues the rest of the way down the steps - _thud, thud, thud_. Starberry doesn’t have grace. Harry found her digging in his bins as a kitten. She’s plump and playful and sometimes a bit standoffish, but only when Harry deserves it. She reaches the ground floor and flounces over to Harry, sniffing at his scrapes and licking them. He’s never had her tested, but he’s relatively certain that Starberry is at least part kneasel. She has a habit of knowing just a bit too much. _ _

__“Come on,” he tells her, scooping her up and wincing as her fur brushes against another scrape. “We’re going to find the plasters, and then we’re going to get some more reusable bags from under the sink, and then I’m going back to the farmer’s market. We’re eating fruit salad tonight, I insist.”_ _

____

— 

When he’s patched himself up, he grabs his trusty wicker basket and hangs it on the crook of his arm. As soon as he starts walking toward the door he feels a tug and the basket is suddenly weighing him down much more than it should.

“I know you hate my cloth bags,” Harry tells Starberry. “But that doesn’t mean you get to jump in my basket whenever I use it. What am I going to put my oranges in if you’re here?”

She doesn’t get out of the basket. He doesn’t expect her to. It might have been why he chose the basket over the cloth bags this time around.

He opens the front door and gets only a couple steps down when he hears the creak of a neighbor’s door. He doesn’t think much of it even as it slams shut again, but he _does_ have thoughts on the man who apparates to about a foot in front of his face.

“Hey!” the guy says. “You’re leaving again!”

“Are you stalking me?” Harry asks, rather affronted.

“Of course not,” the stranger says. His eyes are very blue and he looks upset at the question. Harry doesn’t care. “I just happened to hear your door open. And I live next door! I didn’t get to tell you! I just moved in and haven’t gotten the chance to meet the neighbors yet, and I didn’t get to introduce myself earlier - hello! I’m Louis!”

At this he sticks out a hand, and Harry wishes he still had his cloth bags so that he would have an excuse not to shake, but he doesn’t, so he says, “Harry,” and puts his hand out. Louis’s hand is smaller than Harry’s by far, and it’s soft in a way Harry’s will never be. It feels nice. He’s not jealous.

“I have to go,” Harry tells him, and tries to step around him only to find Louis following him. Why must he be so persistent? Harry’s farmer’s market day is going to be ruined at this rate.

“Well hello there,” Louis coos at his side and Harry is shocked for a moment before realising he’s talking to Starberry. He looks down at the basket to find her sitting up and looking intently at Louis as he jogs beside Harry’s long strides. He’s offended when Starberry stretches up and _licks_ Louis’s outstretched fingers.

It took months to get to the point where Starberry didn’t bite him on sight. This isn’t fair.

“She’s beautiful,” Louis tells him. “Part kneasel, right? She definitely looks intelligent.”

“Dunno,” Harry mumbles. He keeps his eyes on the road. Starberry is such a traitor.

“Where are you going, anyway? Just on a walk? Since I’m new to the neighborhood I don’t know the area well. Are there parks nearby? I mean I think I’d still be more for apparating but since this is a wizarding neighborhood maybe I could get a broom. Haven’t really felt the need to have one since I graduated so I’ve got an old Nimbus around somewhere, but I think it more hovers than flies at this point.”

Harry doesn’t think there’s much point to replying. Louis seems like he can hold up a conversation by himself perfectly well. He sort of tunes him out when Louis starts going on about his quidditch team in school. They make it most of the way to the market before he notices that Louis seems to have asked a question.

“Sorry, what?” Harry asks. He’s not embarrassed. Louis invited himself along.

“I said,” Louis explains, looking a little fondly exasperated. “What’s your wand made of? Since I pretty much gave you the full history of mine.”

Harry gulps. He works to unclench his teeth. He doesn’t like to lie about it, but he hates the reaction he knows is coming.

“I don’t have one,” he says.

“You don’t…” Louis seems speechless for the first time since running into him. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Harry says. “Oh.”

Louis stops, but Harry keeps walking. He hates this part. The sooner Louis leaves him alone, the better. The archway to the farmer’s market is in sight anyway, so it’s about time.

But then, before he’s even inside the market, there’s the pounding of footsteps again and Louis is suddenly next to him. Starberry lets out a meow at him and Harry silently chides her for being so transparent. 

“Sorry!” Louis says, although Harry still isn’t directly looking at him. “Sorry, sorry. I know that was _so_ rude of me, I don’t know what I was thinking.” Out of the corner of his eye, Harry sees Louis reaching out to Starberry, who licks his hand. He’s never taking Starberry out and about again.

“It’s just, you know, it was a surprise. You don’t meet a lot of - I mean. You probably do- _I mean-_ ” Louis takes a deep breath. “Shit. Sorry. I’m sure people just stick their foot in their mouth about this all the time, don’t they? Please tell me I’m not the only one.”

“You’re not the only one,” Harry assures him, face solemn. They’re in the market now, and Harry is making a beeline for his favourite vegetable stand. He’s craving fried aubergine for dinner now. “Now, if you would excuse us, I’ve really got some shopping to do.”

“Oh, let me help you!” Louis says with excitement. “I can carry the basket! Or I could get another basket! Or I’ve got a nice little charm that’ll shrink things until you get them home so you can fit them all easily with your kneasel there-”

“No,” Harry grits out. “No magic.”

Louis falters. “But-” he frowns. “I mean, okay. But at least let me carry the basket for you. I’m assuming it’s my fault you’re here again. So.”

Harry thinks about it, but then his shoulders slump. “Fine,” he says. “Starberry seems to like you anyway.”

He holds his arm up for Louis to take the basket, and when he feels the weight leave his arm, he holds in a sigh. Today could have gone so much better if he had just spent ten more minutes at the market earlier.

Louis diligently follows him around from stall to stall as Harry examines everything carefully before handing it over to be put in the basket. Louis talks about fruits. He talks about vegetables. He tells Harry about his sisters and their favourite foods and he tells about his own empty cabinets because he can’t cook. Harry’s generally facing away from him, concentrating (or trying to) on the produce displays. It’s hard not to take an interest in what Louis’s saying, though. Not because it’s particularly fascinating, but because Louis seems so happy to be saying it.

“Just last week Fizzy was telling me that she doesn’t get nearly enough junk food,” Louis tells him as he’s arranging asparagus around Starberry. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry can see Starberry giving Louis a resentful look at being covered in produce, but it’s what she gets. “So she was saying, at Hogwarts-” and he falters a little. 

This is the worst part. When they think they need to censor themselves. Like he’s an invalid who’s going to get his feelings hurt because they’re talking about something he never got to experience.

“You know what? I can take it from here,” Harry says, grabbing the basket out of Louis’s arms. Starberry squeaks in protest but Harry ignores her. He drops a handful of Knuts in the hand of the stall owner and struts out, making a beeline for the entrance. He’s got enough to last him a week, it’ll be fine. He just wants to get out of here, get home where it’s quiet and he can just _be_ without worrying about what others thought of how he lives.

That being said, he isn’t nearly so lucky. Even moving at enough of a clip that he knows Louis will have to run to keep up with him, the man is on his heels before Harry has even reached the front entrance.

“Harry! Harry- stop! I’m sorry! I fuck up things like this all the time, I’m a general disaster! Please don’t say you’re leaving because of me!”

If Harry could, he would roll his eyes far enough to see Louis running behind him. Wizards are all the same. They want to be told it’s all fine, and that being a squib means he’s just different and it’s not their fault, they want all the blame taken off of their actions. He’s tired of it. It’s times like these that he questions why he moved to a full wizarding neighborhood in the first place.

“Come on, Harry, please? I just want to know you’re all right and that I didn’t muck things up too badly for you! I swear I just wanted to help, I didn’t mean to be a total show off that I can use magic-”

Harry rounds on him, resulting in the second near-collision of the day. “I don’t care that you can use magic,” he says, working to keep his voice calm. “I care that as soon as you found out that I couldn’t, you started treating me like a different person. Like I’m fragile. I’m not an injured animal. I’m okay with who I am, Louis, I’m completely at peace with that. What I’m not okay with is people who think they’re better than me, people who think that I’m less than they are, who think I need to be pitied because I can’t do what they can. I’m still just as much of a person.”

With that, he turns and walks the rest of the way back to his house, and this time he’s alone.

— 

It’s hours later that a knock comes at his door.

Harry knew that knock was coming, because Starberry had been sitting patiently in front of the door for almost five minutes. She always knows when visitors are coming, not that Harry gets many.

He sighs. He’s been tending to his kitchen plants, and he hates having his routines interrupted. 

He gets to the door just as the visitor knocks again, and he throws it open only to see his dear (by her words) favourite (only) sister Gemma.

“Gems!” he says, dragging her into a hug. “I thought you weren’t coming until this evening!”

“I wasn’t,” she said. “And then a furry little visitor came through my fireplace and seemed very insistent that I come see you a bit early.”

Harry glances reproachfully at Starberry.

“What’s up, Haz? What have you done to get her so riled up?”

“I don’t think it’s me she’s thinking about,” Harry says, leading Gemma back to the kitchen. “She’s obsessed with the neighbor boy. Just hasn’t figured out how to break into his house yet, probably.”

“Ooh, a neighbor boy, huh? I haven’t heard you mention anyone new lately!” She settles herself at the kitchen counter and Starberry jumps up to rub against her.

“It’s because we’ve just met today,” Harry sighs. “And he’s a total pain in the arse.”

“Bet he’s not,” Gemma says. “Explain. I want all the details.”

Harry glares at her. He rolls his eyes. He tells her everything.

By the time he’s done, Gemma’s giving him the kind of pitying looks that he loathes to get. “Don’t tell me you’re on his side,” Harry groans.

“I’m on my stupid little brother’s side,” Gemma tells him. “Which means I’m on his side. You were an idiot, Haz. He just wanted to help.”

He just wanted to feel good about helping the squib,” Harry says. Gemma winces at the word choice.

“He wanted to help you before he found out you couldn’t do magic,” she clarifies. “I think that’s different.”

Starberry jumps off the counter and pads back toward the front door.

“I also think that might be him,” Gemma says. “I’ll be back tomorrow, okay? Fill me in then.”

She turns in her spot and she’s gone, leaving the pop of displaced air. She _knows_ Harry hates when she does that.

Begrudgingly, he trudges back to the front hall where Starberry is pawing at the door. With one foot he gently pushes her aside and opens it, revealing Louis looking rather antsy on the other side.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” Louis tells him in lieu of a greeting. “And I think you don’t either. I think that’s what the problem is.”

“Is that right,” Harry says. He’s more interested in the pan that Louis is holding in his hands. It looks sort of like brownies, but black instead of, well, brown. It also smells more burnt than brownies generally do.

“Can I come in?” Louis asks. “These are kind of hot.”

Harry turns and heads into his house, back again to the kitchen. As expected, Louis follows him.

“So I made brownies,” Louis says. “But I thought you might like them more if I made them, you know, without magic? But I haven’t ever actually _used_ the oven without magic and it turns out it doesn’t get hot, like, instantly. So I had to leave them in a while longer and ended up leaving them in _too_ long, and I think I’ve also not mixed very well, so that white stuff you see is definitely flour and not, like, mould. Or something. But I’m not sure they’re edible either way, really.”

Harry’s not sure either.

“But I wanted to say, like. I’m sorry? But I don’t think you want me to say sorry. So I wanted to say instead, like, can we start over?”

“You don’t want to start over,” Harry says. “Because then you’ll still get all awkward when you find out I’m a squib.”

“No I won’t!” Louis protests. He sort of whines. It’s sort of endearing, maybe. Possibly.

“Come on, let’s try again.” Louis tells him. “Hi, I’m Louis Tomlinson, and I live next door.”

He holds out his hand and Harry takes it. “Hi, I’m Harry Styles,” he says, in an attempt to play along. “I’m a squib.”

“Hello Harry Styles,” Louis shakes his hand firmly. “It’s nice to meet you. Would you like a brownie?”

“Not if it’s one of those,” Harry says. “I don’t want to die.”

Louis giggles and okay, Harry smiles _a little_. 

“Here,” Harry says, going over to the refrigerator and taking out the tupperware he put in only an hour before. “I made aubergine bites.”

“That doesn’t sound better than my brownies,” Louis says warily. Harry opens the container and pops a breaded slice of aubergine in his mouth. Louis watches him with an expression that looks like Harry’s pulling a prank on him.

“They’re good,” Harry says. 

Louis tentatively takes a small one and nibbles on it. “Weird,” he says. “I don’t know if I’d call them good. But I wouldn’t turn them down at a party.”

“Nobody would, because they’re delicious,” Harry says, popping another in his mouth. “Much better than the archaic food they serve at Hogwarts.”

Louis misses a beat but then says, “The food they serve at Hogwarts is delicious! It’s just a bit old fashioned, maybe!”

“I hear they serve pumpkin pasties for breakfast every morning in October,” Harry says. 

“Yeah but pumpkin pasties are delicious,” Louis argues back. “They deserve a whole month.”

“Nothing deserves a whole month.”

“What about Christmas? Christmas does.”

“Christmas is not a food.”

“Pumpkin pie. Christmas sweets. Candy canes.”

“Candy canes from Honeydukes turn your tongue stripes, I’d hate to think what they’d do to you if you ate them every day.”

“That’s not the point,” Louis argues. Harry smugly watches him pop another aubergine bite into his mouth. “The point is, not all Hogwarts food is horrible. It’s just not modern.”

“If you says so,” Harry says. 

“Hell, I could have Fizzy sneak some back for you to try when she comes home for the summer. Being a Hufflepuff, she’s always got a contact working in the kitchens. I’m sure they know a spell or two to keep them fresh.”

“Not interested,” Harry says, and he means to say it in a joking way, but maybe it comes out with more of his feelings attached than he intended. Louis gives him an indecipherable look that makes him want to squirm in his seat.

“You live in a wizarding neighborhood,” Louis says slowly. “But what I’m seeing from you is someone utterly terrified of actual magic.”

Harry studies the countertop.

“I just, like, I know I’m overstepping my boundaries.” Louis frowns. “But I just don’t get it, you know?”

“Of course you don’t,” Harry says. “You can do magic.”

“But I want to! I want to understand. If you’d be willing to share, that is.”

“You’ve only just met me.” Harry grabs the tupperware and puts it back in the refrigerator. He needs something to do with his hands, he feels jittery. On the way back to the counter he picks up one of his smallest potted plants and his mini shears. “You’ve only just met me,” he repeats, “literally because you ran into me, and you want to know my life story. Is this what you do? Find unsuspecting people and attach to them?”

Louis doesn’t respond right away, and Harry snaps off a few of the more dead leaves before looking over at him. Harry is startled to find that Louis is fastidiously looking down at his hands where they’re folded together on the counter, and with the feeling of a lead ball in his stomach he realises that Louis’s lip is wobbling. Oh no.

Oh no, Harry’s gone and done it again. 

“Shit,” Harry says. “I’m sorry, fuck. I didn’t mean for it to come out that way. You just, like. You caught me off guard. Most people just leave me alone once they find out I’m a squib. It’s not normal for people to want to be friends still at that point. I’m sorry, I know I’m a complete grouch, it’s nothing you did. You seem lovely, even if you are a little talkative.”

To Harry’s horror Louis starts full on crying at this point, tears running down his cheeks. Before he can think of anything else (that would probably dig him a deeper hole), Louis throws himself at Harry, wrapping his arms around Harry’s shoulders and _narrowly_ avoiding the pruning shears in Harry’s hands.

“That’s _terrible_ ,” Louis tells him, although it’s rather unintelligible since his head is buried in Harry’s chest. “I can’t _imagine_ having to live like that! How can people just give up on you because you’re different? I’m so, _so sorry, Harry!_ ”

With the hand not holding the pruning shears, Harry attempts to rub Louis’s back reassuringly. Over the top of Louis’s feathery soft hair, Harry spots Starberry sitting at the far end of the countertop, looking incredibly smug. 

“It’s- it’s really okay,” Harry says. “It just happens, you know? I’ve got Starberry, though. And my sister.”

Louis pulls back from him and gives him a very fierce look. “Well now you have me, too!” he says. “You can’t get rid of me for anything.”

Harry’s not sure how he feels about that. Oddly enough, he thinks it may be happiness.

— 

It’s at three months later that Louis _finally_ convinces Harry to let him offer some magical help around the house. Nothing big, just a bit of magic to kick the oven into gear (since Louis is too impatient for frozen pizza), and some cat toys for Starberry to chase around that don’t need to be wound up.

Harry’s worried at first, but Louis has literally stuck to him like glue for the last three months, so he’s confident Louis will be there to get him out again if something goes wrong.

— 

It’s at exactly six months since their initial meeting that Gemma visits, unannounced as always, apparating right into the living room even though she _knows_ Harry hates that, and finds an unmanned pot on the stove with a spoon stirring it.

She runs up the stairs in fear that someone has clearly broken into her brother’s home, and flings open the bedroom door. 

“What the fuck,” Louis says.

“Gems?” Harry says. “Get the fuck out.”

Gemma claims later that she’s been scarred for life.

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit me at [Londonfoginacup](londonfoginacup.tumblr.com) on tumblr! And if you liked it, you can reblog the lovely post [here](https://letsjustsee.tumblr.com/post/162914262072/mood-boards-inspired-by-londonfoginacup) that Letsjustsee made for me!


End file.
